The lid lay on the floor, its edges bent from the impact. From inside the crate, a figure in black armor straightened up, shoulders broad and posture rigid. His visor caught the light, the surface mirror-smooth so I couldnt see his face, only the warped reflection of the aisle and my own tense stance. He lifted a long staff, holding it in both gloved hands. The staff was capped with metal prongs at each end, and as he moved, blue-white electricity sparked and snapped between them. The light threw quick flashes on the armor, highlighting the deep grooves and reinforced plates.

  Before I could process, the other crates burst open in rapid succession. Latches snapped, lids slammed onto the floor, and more armored men climbed out, each one moving with the same practiced efficiency. They all wore the same matte black armor, segmented at the joints, and each held a shock-stave like the first, electricity arcing at the tips.

  Blairs voice was tight, almost a whisper. How many are there?

  "There are six of them," I said, eyes flicking from visor to visor.

  The first assassin lunged at me, moving fast for someone weighed down by armor. I sidestepped, shifting my weight onto my left foot, and swung my baton at his wrist. The baton hit the armor with a sharp crack, vibrating in my hand, but he didnt even flinch. His arm didnt drop. He jabbed the shock-stave at my ribs, the prongs glinting. I twisted away, pivoting on my heel, and the prongs scraped across my vest, dragging over the fabric. The impact buzzed through the vest, a sharp jolt, but the walking held and nothing broke through.

  Another assassin came at me from the side, boots thudding against the metal floor. I ducked, bending my knees and dropping my center of gravity. I swung my baton at his knee, aiming for the gap in the armor. The blow landed with a dull thunk, the baton bouncing off the reinforced joint. He staggered, his leg buckling for a second, but he didnt go down. Blair scrambled back, shoes squeaking as she darted behind a row of seats. Her eyes kept flicking from me to the armored men, her silver hair swinging across her face.

  "Behind you!"Blair's voice pierced the commotion, urgent.

  The first assassin pressed forward, not giving me any space to breathe. He raised his staff, electricity crackling at the tips, the blue-white arcs reflecting in his visor. I charged him, swinging my baton at his arm, putting all my weight behind the blow. The baton connected with a hollow smack, but the plastic cracked along the shaft. I swung again, desperate, and the baton split down the middle, the two halves twisting in my grip. The assassin barely reacted. He slammed the staff into my side, the metal prongs digging into my vest. Pain shot through my ribs, a hot line radiating outward, but the vest absorbed most of the shock. I gasped, teeth gritted, but stayed upright.

  I dropped the broken baton, letting the halves clatter to the floor. I grabbed the assassins arm with both hands, fingers digging into the gaps between the armor plates. He tried to pull away, twisting his wrist, but I yanked hard, using his momentum against him. The staff slipped from his grip. I wrenched it free and shoved him back, sending him stumbling into one of the seats.

  The second assassin came at me, his staff raised. I swung the stolen staff, gripping it near the middle. The metal prongs caught him in the gut, right at the edge of his chest plate. He doubled over, arms wrapping around his stomach.

  Blair darted out from behind the seats, her movements quick and frantic. She grabbed my broken baton from the floor, fingers curling around the cracked plastic. She hurled it at the third assassins head. The baton bounced off his helmet, the plastic splitting further, but it distracted him. He turned his head, visor catching the light.

  I swept the staff at his legs, aiming for his ankles. The metal prongs hit the inside of his knee, and he went down hard, armor clattering against the floor. He tried to catch himself on one hand, but his staff slipped away.

  The fourth assassin jabbed at me, his staff coming in fast. I blocked with my stolen staff, crossing the two weapons. The prongs caught my forearm, sending another jolt through my muscles. My hand spasmed, fingers twitching, but I forced myself to hold on. I slammed the staff into his chest, pushing him back until he hit the row of seats behind him.

  Blair yelled from behind me, her voice echoing off the metal walls. Theres a vending machine! Armory, just ahead! At the end of the car, a vending machine stood against the wall, its surface scratched and covered in fingerprints. Above it, the word ARMORY glowed in red block letters, the light steady even as the rest of the car flickered. I shoved the staff into the fourth assassins stomach, driving the breath from him and making him double over. I turned and sprinted for the vending machine, boots slapping against the metal floor.

  Blair followed, ducking under a wild swing from one of the assassins. She kept low, her silver hair flying out behind her, the ends brushing the shoulders of her jacket. I reached the machine, chest heaving, breath coming in quick bursts. The touchscreen glowed, displaying a menu: PISTOL, AMMO, KATANA, VEST. I jammed my thumb against the PISTOL icon, pressing hard enough to leave a smear. The slot beneath the screen whirred, gears grinding, and a matte black pistol dropped into the tray with a solid thunk. I grabbed it, fingers wrapping around the grip, and racked the slide, chambering a round.

  "I need a weapon!" Blair skidded to a stop beside me, her shoes squeaking.

  I pressed the PISTOL icon again, my thumb leaving another smudge on the glass. The machine whirred a second time, and another pistol dropped. I grabbed it and handed it to Blair, holding it out grip-first. She fumbled with it, hands shaking, her fingers slipping on the metal.

  "We need more ammo," I muttered, glancing at the menu.

  "Show me how to use it," she said, her voice shaky but determined.

  "Like this," I said, nodding. I popped the magazine out of my pistol, the metal sliding free with a click.

  The assassins regrouped at the far end of the aisle, three of them advancing in a line, staves raised and electricity crackling between the prongs. I turned, raising the pistol, and aimed at the lead assassins chest. I squeezed the trigger. The first shot hit the armor, sparking off the plating and leaving a dent. I adjusted my aim, lowering the barrel, and fired again. The bullet struck the knee joint, right where the armor segmented. The assassin stumbled, his leg folding awkwardly for a second before he caught himself on the back of a seat.

  Blair aimed at the second assassin. I could see her hands trembling, the gun quivering as she tried to steady it. She squeezed the trigger, her finger tightening around the metal, and the shot went wide. The bullet punched through the back of a seat, stuffing puffing out in a spray. She gritted her teeth, jaw flexing, and shifted her grip. I watched her thumb slide up to brace the back of the pistol, her other hand wrapping tighter around the grip. She took a breath, shoulders rising, then adjusted her aim, lifting the barrel just enough to line up the sights with the assassins thigh. She fired again, the recoil making her arms jerk. This time, the bullet hit. The assassin staggered, his leg buckling. He grunted, but kept coming, limping forward, staff raised.

  The third assassin charged me. I ducked behind a seat, dropping low so the hard edge pressed into my ribs. I raised my pistol, sighted along the top, and fired twice in quick succession. The first shot clipped the edge of his helmet, sending a small shard of black plastic spinning away. He reeled, head snapping to the side, but didnt go down. I stepped out from behind the seat, planting my feet wide for balance, and aimed for his leg. I squeezed the trigger again, feeling the kick in my palm. The bullet punched through his thigh just above the knee. He dropped instantly, one knee hitting the floor with a loud thud, staff clattering from his hand.

  The first assassin reached the vending machine, swinging his staff in a wide arc. I saw the blur of metal coming for my head and ducked, feeling the rush of air as it missed me by inches. I brought my pistol up, pressed the muzzle almost flush against his visor, and fired. The glass spiderwebbed, cracks racing out from the point of impact. He fell back, arms flailing, the staff clattering to the floor beside him.

  Blair fired at the second assassin again. I watched her arms tense, the barrel jerking upward as she pulled the trigger. The bullet hit his shoulder, spinning him halfway around. He staggered, tried to recover, but she fired again, this time aiming lower. The bullet struck his chest, right where the armor was thinnest. He dropped his staff, fingers slipping off the handle, and slumped to the floor, knees folding under him.

  The last assassin tried to retreat, backing away, glancing over his shoulder at the door. I stepped forward, pistol raised, finger resting on the trigger guard. He froze, arms coming up, palms open.

  "Drop the weapon," I said, keeping the gun trained on his helmet.

  He hesitated, breath fogging the inside of his visor. Then he tossed his staff aside, letting it clatter to the floor. I stepped closer, boots crunching on broken glass, and kicked the staff away, sending it skittering under a seat. I pressed the muzzle of my pistol to the side of his helmet, feeling the hard shell shift slightly under the pressure.

  Blair stood beside me, breathing hard. Her chest heaved, sweat beading along her collarbone and running down between her breasts. Her tank top clung to her chest, the thin fabric outlining the curve of her breasts, nipples faintly visible through the damp material. Her hands shook, the gun wobbling as she tried to keep it pointed at the floor.

  "Who sent you?" I asked, turning back to the assassin.

  He didnt answer. I reached up, fingers fumbling with the helmets latch, and yanked it off. He was young, probably no more than twenty, with pale skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. His eyes were wide, pupils blown with fear, mouth working silently.

  "Who sent you?" I pressed the gun harder against his temple.

  He shook his head, lips trembling. The Conductor. Thats all I know.

  I glanced at Blair. She nodded, her eyes steady now, understanding what needed to happen. I stepped back, keeping my gun on him, finger ready.

  "Get out of here," I said, jerking my chin toward the door.

  He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over his own boots. He kept his head down, one hand pressed to his bleeding leg, and bolted for the door at the end of the car. He shoved it open with his shoulder, disappearing into the next compartment.

  I turned to Blair. She was still shaking, gun pointed at the floor, arms limp at her sides. Sweat tracked down her neck, soaking into the collar of her tank top.

  "Here," I said, reaching out. I gently pried the gun from her hands. "You did well."

  She nodded, swallowing hard, throat working. I didnt think I could do it.

  I moved to the vending machine, stepping around the bodies sprawled across the aisle. I scanned the panel, found the KATANA icon glowing red. I pressed it with my thumb. There was a mechanical whir, then a long, black sheath slid into the tray below. I reached in, wrapped my fingers around the sheath, and pulled it out. The surface was cold, matte black with a faint pattern etched into the leather. I unsnapped the clasp, drew the blade free. The katana was lighter than I expected, the balance perfect in my hand. The edge gleamed, catching the overhead lights, razor sharp.

  "Try again," I said, handing Blair her gun, holding it out grip-first.

  She took it, her hands steadier this time. I watched her wrap her fingers around the grip, thumb resting along the side. I stepped behind her, reaching over her shoulder to show her how to check the safety. I slid my finger along the switch, flicked it up, then down, making sure she saw the movement. I pressed the magazine release, letting the clip drop into my palm, then slid it back in with a click. I guided her hands, adjusting her grip so her fingers were higher on the backstrap.

  "Grip higher," I said, sliding my hand over hers. "Lean forward a little."

  She nodded, focusing on the seat back ahead. I stepped aside, watching her feet plant a little wider, her shoulders tilting forward. She raised the pistol, arms straight, elbows slightly bent. I pointed at a seat back. Aim there. Slow, steady.

  She exhaled, finger tightening on the trigger. The gun bucked in her hands, the bullet punching through the faded blue fabric of the seat. A tuft of stuffing popped out, bits of foam scattering across the aisle.

  "That was good," I said, nodding.

  She smiled, lips trembling at the corners, but her eyes were brighter. She looked steadier, more sure of herself, her grip tighter on the gun.

  I sheathed the katana, sliding the blade into its scabbard with a soft scrape. I slung it across my back, adjusting the strap so it sat snug against my shoulder blades. I took one last look at the armored bodies scattered across the car, noting where the bullets had struck. I knelt beside the closest one, fingers probing the vest. The material was thick, heavy, reinforced with ceramic plates at the chest and shoulders. I unbuckled the straps, peeling the vest off his torso, then tossed it to Blair.

  "Put this on," I said, handing her the vest.

  She caught it, turning it over in her hands. She slipped it over her tank top, threading her arms through the holes, then reached behind her to adjust the straps. She pulled them tight, the vest settling over her chest. The armor was bulky, but it fit, the edges digging into her sides. Her breasts pressed against the inside of the vest, the outline obvious even beneath the hard plates. The vest gaped slightly at the sides, but she tugged the straps tighter, cinching it down until it hugged her body.

  I grabbed another vest from a fallen assassin, unfastening the buckles and sliding it over my own shoulders. I tightened the straps, making sure the plates covered my chest and ribs. I checked my pistol, dropping the magazine to count the rounds, then slapped it back in. I adjusted the katana on my back, making sure it wouldnt catch when I moved.

  "What's our next move?" Blair asked, her eyes searching my face.

  I glanced at the door at the end of the car, the one the last assassin had run through. We keep moving. Stay behind me, gun ready. Aim for knees, joints, anywhere the armors weak. She stepped in behind me, gun held in both hands, muzzle pointed at the floor.

  I moved to the door, my boots crunching on broken glass and scattered shell casings. I pressed the button with my knuckle. The door slid open, cold air rushing in from the next car, raising goosebumps along my arms.

  "Are you okay?" I turned to Blair.

  "I'm ready to keep going," she said, nodding again, lips pressed together.

  I stepped through the doorway, leading with my pistol. Blair followed close behind, her vest brushing my back. The train rattled beneath our feet, the floor vibrating with each jolt. Outside, the snow blurred past the black windows, streaks of white against the darkness.

  I tightened my grip on the pistol, feeling the weight of the katana pressing against my back. We moved forward, boots squeaking on the vinyl floor, leaving the bodies behind. The car ahead was empty, rows of seats stretching into the darkness. I kept my gun raised, sweeping it from side to side, scanning for any sign of movement.

  Blair stayed close, her gun pointed down the aisle. Her silver hair fell over her shoulders, the strands catching the light as she moved. The vest made her look smaller, but tougher, her shoulders squared, eyes alert.

  At the end of the car, another vending machine glowed, its screen flickering. I approached it, scanning the options. Just drinks and snacks. I pressed the button for water. The bottle dropped into the tray with a dull thud. I bent down, picked it up, and handed it to Blair.

  She unscrewed the cap, lifting the bottle to her lips. I watched her throat work as she drank, water running down the side of her mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, then capped the bottle, slipping it into her vest pocket.

  "Thanks for your help," she said quietly, her tone subdued.

  I nodded. You did good.

  She smiled, a real one this time, her lips curving up, eyes softening.

  We moved on, heading for the next car. The train sped through the darkness, the world outside lost in snow and night. I kept my hand on the pistol, Blair at my side, prepared for anything that might happen.

  Chapter 13

  Blair followed close as I moved through the next car. The trains motion pressed us toward the right side, and I had to keep my balance as I checked every row of seats. Each step, I shifted my weight deliberately, planting my boots on the narrow aisle between the rows, feeling the sway of the carriage in my knees. My pistol was warm in my hand, the grip slick with sweat. The katanas sheath bumped my back with every step, the edge of the guard digging into my shoulder blade when I leaned too far forward.

  I kept my eyes moving, sweeping over each seat, my finger resting just outside the trigger guard. Every seat was empty, the faded blue fabric stretched tight over foam cushions, some left with old stains or a torn seam. My gaze flicked up to the windows as I moved. Outside, there was nothing but black and streaks of white snow, the storm outside making the world feel like it ended at the glass. The snow hit the window and streaked away, the darkness swallowing everything beyond the pane, so it felt like we were moving through a void.

  Blairs voice was quiet. How many more cars?

  I didnt look back. I shook my head. No idea. We keep going until we find The Conductor.

  She nodded, gripping her pistol with both hands. Her vest was too big for her frame, the straps hanging loose at the shoulders, but she didnt complain. She kept close, her boots thudding softly behind me as we stepped past another pair of empty seats, the overhead lights flickering above us.

  At the end of the car, we reached the door. It was locked, no button, just a solid steel slab with a red panel beside it. I stepped up close, feeling the cool air leaking from the seam. I pressed my palm to the panel, flattening my hand against the red plastic. Nothing happened. The panel was dead, no light, no sound.

  I pressed harder, shifting my weight onto my toes, trying to force some kind of response. Still nothing.